Dead and Gone
by sylphie3000
Summary: an AU where daine died in the final battle, and Numair's quest to find her. i'm hoping to make this into a big thing, so it'll take a couple weeks to finish but i'll work on it as much as i can. i hope you like it
1. Chapter 1

DISCLAIMER: I don't own anything from the Immortals series by Tamora Pierce. This is merely a fanwork.

**AUTHORS NOTE: dont worry guys -she didnt go to the divine realms or anything. i wouldnt be THAT cruel.**

ALANNA'S POV

Alanna watched sympathetically as Numair stumbled back to his tower, drunk as a lord. Almost two months after the Final Battle, the mage was still grieving for his friend, student and lover, Veralidaine Sarrasri. It is thought that she perished after Ozorne's death. Her body was never found, although the Badger god did give Numair the claw Daine wore around her neck at all times, in remembrance of her.

When Numair discovered Daine missing (two days after the actual fight –he had just woken up), something in him broke. He had dashed out of the Infirmary like a madman, running up and down the site of the battle, searching for her. He was finally subdued and brought back by Alanna herself, and held him while they both cried at the loss of their friend. It was one of the least pleasant things she had ever had to do.

Not once in her entire life had she seen Numair cry, but over the past two months she had seen it more often then anyone else. He had locked himself up in his tower, refusing to let anyone in, and rarely coming out. Not that her methods of getting to him always meant keeping the door on its hinges. Eventually Numair had just asked her to stay away. As sad as Alanna was for both her friends, dead and alive, she respected his wish, out of the hope that one day she might get the Numair she knew back.

NUMAIR'S POV

-2 days later-

Numair closed the door behind him, sliding down with his back to it. His hands went to his head and grabbed at his hair, pulling it out of the horse-tail it was customarily in. The band keeping his hair in check fell to the floor, making a soft click as the metal decoration on it hit the stone. Kitten walked over, her scales a deep blackish blue. She picked up the headband and nudged it into his hand, then curled up next to him, warm in the cold room.

He stared at the band, turning it over in his hand. Daine had given it to him for his twenty-eighth birthday. She had run up to him, on that day two years past, and pushed the box into his hands, giving a rushed _"happy birthday,"_ before running off, blushing madly and nowhere to be seen till dinnertime. It was his favorite, all black except for the metal part, which had sparks of white in it, just like his magic. He held it to his lips for a second, and then put it in a pocket in his robe, close to his heart.

Kit snuggled closer to him, trilling sadly. "I know Kit. I know," he said, pulling the dragonet into his lap. _Poor Kit. Poor, poor Kit. She's lost two ma's now._

He felt a surge of anger towards Daine for abandoning them, then shook it off. It wasn't **her **fault that she was gone, was it? Anything could have happened, anything at all, so why was he so mad at her? _Because she's gone. She's gone forever and there's nothing I can do. I don't even get a __body__. I don't get to say goodbye. I'll never hug her again, or kiss her, or watch her smile and blush when I tell her I love her. I'll never see her again. _The thought hits home, and suddenly he can't breathe. _I'll…never…see her again. My Magelet..._ Tears start to streak their way down his face, falling on Kit. She looks up at him, concerned.

"Daine...oh Mithros why," he whispered, burying his face in his hands again. He and kit stay like that, sitting in the cold stone room, until finally they drift off to sleep.


	2. Numair's Dream

**Hey guys sorry for the delay, I've just been more than a little busy, with school and whatnot. I usually write faster than this, but oops sorry-not-sorry. Hope you guys enjoy this second chapter, there'll be more on the way hopefully soon. **

NUMAIRS POV:

_He was in a large cabin, with a table in the center of the room. On chairs surrounding the table, a tall green-tinted man held his wife in his lap while she cried. Kitten jumped up on the table, trilling at Daine's parents. The man and his wife looked up, surprised. _

"_Master Numair?" Sarra said, her brown hair hiding part of her face as she wiped her eyes and stood up. Weiryn stood up behind her, standing protectively over his mate. _

_Numair stared at them, not knowing what to say. Weiryn met his eyes, hostile and wary. Kit was between them, trilling softly. Numair looked at Sarra. He could see Daine in her stubborn chin, her eyelashes, the arch of her nose, the way she carried herself. Just being in the same room with the Gods made his eyes sting. Weiryn noticed Numair gazing at his wife and growled. Numair glanced up at the feral-sounding noise and met the Hunt God directly in the eyes. He could see grief in the gods' eyes, similar to his own, and a certain danger that told Numair he should speak carefully if he wished to make it out alive._

"_She's not here, is she," Numair whispered, making it more of a statement than a question._

_Weiryn glared at Numair as Sarra started crying again, turning her face to her mate's chest. "Why would you think that?" the antlered God whispered, his voice breaking and dangerous. _

"_I had hoped-," the mage started, but was cut off by a yell of fury._

"_You though what, exactly? That she would be __here__? That my daughter would come __here__ and not tell you? She couldn't live without you! She loved you, Numair Salmalin. More than her own life," Sarra yelled, her voice tapering until it was barely audible. "Did you really think so low of her?"_

_Try as he might, Numair couldn't stop the tears from trailing down his face. "Never. I would never think so low of her. She was everything to me. I thought that she might be safe, here with you. I had hoped that I could talk to her again somehow, hold her. Say goodbye," he whispered in a voice thick with grief._

_There was a long pause after his words, with Sarra and Numair trying to stop their tears and Kit staring at Numair. Finally Numair regained some possession of his faculties and looked at the two gods. "What happened to her?" _

_Weiryn looked away, towards the wall. "Uusoae," he whispered. "Uusoae happened. It was all so fast. Sh-she killed him, that stormwing bastard, she was so brave, so good. She collapsed and…" the Hunt God seemed unable to go on and buried his face in his mates' hair. Sarra held Weiryn tight, then held her hand out to Numair. When he didn't move, Sarra broke out of Weiryn's embrace and walked over to him. She looked up at him with her red puffy eyes and gave him a small, sad smile, the kind that Daine had had when they had first met. She reached out and touched his chest, palm and fingers flat against his robe. They stood like that for a second before his vision changed and twisted._

_Daine fought against her attacker, a stormwing with feathers streaked with blood and a face twisted with fury. The girl was flung against a tree, where she lay, gasping for breath. The stormwing edged closer, his mouth moving but the words couldn't be heard. Daine fidgeted a bit, then when the stormwing closed in on her she jumped on him with all the fury of the Gods. They struggled, and eventually Daine's enemy fell beneath her, blood flowing from his throat. The girl moved three steps away from the body and collapsed from exhaustion. No sooner had she fallen then a figure with a constantly changing form appeared, looking furious when she had a face._

_She picked Daine up and killed her without grace or form, crushing the girls' neck with giant pincers that sprouted from the Chaos-bringer's stomach. As Daine fell limp and lifeless to the ground, the Great Gods appeared, with the Ultimate Light and Ultimate Darkness, Mother Flame and Father Universe themselves. Words were spoken but not heard, and when Light and Darkness vanished with the Chaos-bringer Uusoae, the Great Gods disappeared with them and left the love of Numair's life beaten and broken on the ground without a second glance. _

_There was a flash of silver fire and a badger appeared, wrought with grief. He wailed over the body, silently keening over the loss of his kit. When humans started over the hill, he touched the girls pale head and they both vanished in a flash of fire._

_Numair opened his eyes with a gasp, tears pouring their way down his cheeks. He fell to the ground at the Green Lady's feet, his head in his hands and grief as fresh as when he had first found out that Daine was gone. He cried her name, yelled it to the heavens, screamed it and whispered it and spoke it, and his grief did not cease. Finally, when all the strength had been driven from his body, he collapsed with one word on his breath: "Magelet."_


	3. Hurt and Comfort

**hey guys, me again. woooo chapter three, yayy! i really like this chapter. something about Numair getting angry just makes it seem more real to me, somehow. either way, i hope you all like it as much as i do.**

**NUMAIR'S POV:**

Numair woke up disoriented on the cold stone floor of his tower. He looked around, not recognizing his surroundings, and stood up.

"Daine?" he shouted, looking around for her. With a pang he remembered his dream, and realized that she would never come home again. _I'll never see her, or touch her, or kiss her again. I'll never hold her or tell her that I love her, or see her blush and kiss me again. There won't be any more scenes in the rain, or any more glances or soft brushes of her hands against mine. No more wild hair, no more fierce blue-gray eyes, no more anything. No more Daine. My Magelet, gone. Dead and gone._

Numair shook his head to clear his thoughts, to numb and tired to cry any more. Slowly, carefully, he bathed and groomed himself, and sat down to think. Memories of Daine flooded his mind, and he found his breath shaky and weak. Kitten jumped on his bed and curled into a ball, blowing a short stream of smoke out of her nose and slumping as her own thoughts took hold of her.

The mage was eventually startled out of his thoughts by a knock on his window. There were at least four or five birds at his window, perching at the wooden railing Daine had put there for them the previous year. Numair got up and opened his window, but none of the birds came in. They just looked at him, some accusatory, others questioning.

"She's not here, you stupid birds. She never will be again," Numair said to the birds, sounding reasonable but getting louder by the word. The birds looked at him blankly. "Do you understand? She's not coming back! She's never coming back! She's dead, gone, and there's nothing you or any of us can do that will make things any different. So just go," he was yelling by the end, and waved his hands towards the birds to shoo them away. They took off and circled once, twice, three times before heading towards the forest with cries of grief ringing through the sky.

Numair slammed the window shut and trudged back to his seat. No sooner than he sat down a pounding at the door startled him back up. "Oh what now?" he growled as he stalked over and flung the door open. A short figure stood before him, with red hair and accusing green eyes.

"What do you want, Alanna?" Numair asked, getting ready to shut the door in her face. The Champion strolled into his room before he could, however, and stood in the center of it, judging him and how he was living. Her eyes scrolled over the slightly cracked mirror, the desk piled high with two-week-old work, the unmade bed with Kit in it, the piles of clothes strewn everywhere and the cobwebs in every corner.

"This place is filthy, Numair," she said, putting her hands on her hips. She looked at him sternly. "How do you live like this?"

Numair shrugged and closed the door, avoiding her eyes. He stood by the door awkwardly, not knowing what to say. At his silence, Alanna's eyes softened and she gave him a small, sad smile.

"I guess you still wanna be alone, huh? Hey, Numair, it's alright. Everyone understands. Daine was our friend too. We all miss her. So if you ever want to talk we'll-" the Champion started.

"She's dead, Alanna. Dead," Numair interrupted, speaking soft and low and looking at the ground.

Alanna had a mixture of sadness and anger on her face. "I know, Numair, we've been over this. You don't need to remind me. I was there. I was close to her too, you know." She took a breath, about to continue, when Numair was suddenly yelling, his face nearly livid as he lashed out.

"No, I don't think you understand, _Alanna._ I _know_ how she died, I _saw _it. She was _killed_, Alanna. _Murdered. _Her neck was snapped by the _Queen of Chaos. _The Great Gods _didn't even care_. They just left her broken body there like it was some bird a cat brought in. She was the greatest thing that had ever happened to any of us, she _won the war for them_, but they didn't even have the courtesy to _look at her when she died._ The Badger had to come and get her before anyone saw. I _loved _her, and now she's gone. She's never, ever coming back. She's dead, Alanna, dead!" he screamed at the Champion, his face turning red as tears ran down his cheeks. His hair had come out of most of its horsetail and was waving around his face, making him look half mad.

"And just _how_ did you see all this?" Alanna asked, the pain and anger in her voice making it cold as ice.

"I saw it. Her parents showed me, in a vision last night," the mage muttered, having calmed down enough to be embarrassed for his outburst.

Alanna looked at him with surprise and hurt, then she registered what he had said, and collapsed into the nearest chair and cried with her face in her hands. Numair went over to her, stood her up and hugged her, for her comfort as much as his. In a matter of minutes his chest was totally soaked through, and still she continued crying. They stood like that until the sun hung went low in the sky, and Kit had woken up from yet another nap.

The ginger warrior stepped back from him, wiping her eyes and sniffling. She looked at the floor, getting her breath back. "Oh Mithros," she said, her voice cracking. "It's just so hard to believe she's gone."

Anger sparked in Numair at the name of Mithros, one of the Great Gods who hadn't even looked at their savior while she lay dead upon the ground at their feet, but it passed quickly enough. "At least her spirit's safe," he whispered.

"That's true. Maybe she can get in touch that way, somehow. I don't know," Alanna said, looking at him. Her eyes and face were red and puffy from hours of crying, and there seemed something off about the way she held herself. Numair suspected he didn't look much better, but his thoughts were going crazy as her words sank in. _Her spirit… maybe, just maybe, I can get to her this way. If I just..._ he became lost in thought and barely heard Alanna's wish that he take better care of himself, or noticed her departure soon after.

He spent the remainder of the day and far into the night thinking and researching. As the moon rose high in the sky, Numair went to bed. He had a lot of sleep to catch up on, after all, if he was going to execute his plan.

His plan to see Daine.


	4. Disappearance

**JONATHAN'S POV:**

King Jonathan of Tortall had just gotten out of a meeting when he ran into Numair, the blackrobe mage of Corrus, in the hallway. The tall man looked better than Jon had seen him in weeks, with his hair tidy and in its customary horsetail, and his cheeks, while still pale and drawn, held some color. His robes were clean and tidy, and he exuded an aura of power. Under that power, though, was a distinct sense of grief and loss that made the back of Jon's neck prickle. There was also something off about the way the man stood, with his shoulders slightly hunched in like he was protecting something, and his eyes, which no longer held the joy and laughter that he used to shower upon his friends. Something inside Numair had broken, and no matter how hard he tried to hide it, it was still painfully obvious to his friends.

Numair stepped a half-step back in surprise. When he saw who he had bumped into, he fell into formal apologies and formal blathering, bowing at the waist to his monarch. Jonathan raised both an eyebrow and a hand, stopping Numair from continuing. "Numair, you know my rules. It was an accident, no apology needed," the king said, looking pointedly at Numair.

The mage wouldn't meet his eyes, and mumbled something half-unintelligible about not seeing him often enough for those things to count. The king stared in shock as Numair handed him nearly three weeks worth of overdue work, said his eloquent apologies for the tardiness of the scrolls, bowed, turned on his heel and walked away in a flap of robes in a display of…power? Flamboyance? _Arrogance?_ It was so unlike Numair that the king almost dropped the papers in surprise.

_Maybe it was his way of showing everyone he's fine_, Jon thought, staring at the last of Numair's robes as they disappeared around a corner. _But he's not fine. Alanna was there not two days ago, saying how broken Numair had been. And it's only right, for him to mourn the loss of one so important to him. _Jon pictured Daine, shy and withdrawn when they had met, and a vibrant and lovely young woman when they parted. It struck a cord in him when he remembered her and Numair, always laughing and smiling, and on the very few occasions when they weren't, then furious and arguing.

The love he had seen blossom between the two had been genuine, and it lifted his spirits to see Numair with her after so many years without someone he could truly say he loved without a doubt. But the heartbreak Numair had suffered as of late had been genuine on an even more personal level, and had expressed itself in an entirely different matter. Where there used to be a tall, proud mage, there was a slightly stooped, agonized man. But why the sudden change? After two months of grieving, he suddenly hands over all of his work and walks away, without even acknowledging his friendship with his monarch? _Something's wrong with him, and I intend to find out._

Jon walked to his study at a fast pace, gently brushing aside any messengers or Lord Something-or-others that wanted his attention. The large desk near the window had recently been cleared off, and Jon tossed the papers in front of his chair for reference later. He started to turn away and catch up with Numair, but a small light blue piece of parchment caught his attention. He took the folded note out from between the circles of a scroll and opened it.

In messy, hardly legible script, was the Last Will and Testament of Numair Salmalin.

_I, Numair Salmalin, blackrobe mage of Tortall and leader of academics in the palace of Corrus, present my Last Will and Testament to the Royal Court of Tortall for consideration and filing._

_Should anything happen to me and my untimely death occurs, I bequeath any items of personal value of the person(s) involved to be distributed among King Jonathan the Second, Queen Thayet the Peerless, Champion Alanna of the King's Knights, and Onua Chamtong of the K'mir Raadeh. I bequeath my engraved ebony and ivory comb to Champion Alanna, my silver luck charm and crystal collection to Queen Thayet, my ebony magic-staff to King Jonathan, and my collection of horse anatomy books to Onua Chamtong as well. Anything else of educational or academic value I bequeath to the Royal Library and Museum of Tortall in Corrus. The remaining belongings of mine will be burned._

_In connection with the Law of Tortall, so mote it be._

_Numair Salmalin_

Jonathan read and reread the scripture before him, searching for something, anything that might give this away as a horrible prank. When nothing was found, he shoved the note into a pocket in his light blue jacket and took off after the mage, frightening servants, lords and ladies as he dashed through the halls and castle grounds, up the Mage's Tower, and to the end of the hall, skidding to a halt at the blackrobe's door.

"**Numair?!**" the king bellowed, pounding on the door, but it swung open easily, revealing Numair with his back to the door, Kitten coiled around his feet, and magic spreading throughout the room as a spell of some sort was finished. Numair turned in surprise as the last powerful syllable of Old Thak rang in the air, gave the king a sad smile, and vanished with a resounding *crack*.

The king fell to his knees as his wife and Champion came and crowded around him, wondering what happened and what the mad escapade through the castle was for. Jonathan could only stare numbly at the slightly charred and smoking spot where one of his best friends had stood just two minutes before.


	5. The Realms of Two Very Different Gods

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: hey sorry it took a while for this to get up. i usually write faster but... eh. anyways, ON WITH THE STORY! HAHA!**

**NUMAIR'S POV:**

Numiar opened his eyes to blank whiteness in all directions. There were forms, silhouettes slightly outlined in gray, but other than that everything was blankly and horribly white. He looked around, trying to gather his bearings, when Kit let out a shriek of warning.

The mage spun around, magic pooling at his palms in a sparkling miasma. A tall figure with unruly dark hair framing his face and inscrutable eyes stood in from of him, calmly and peacefully, as though he had just stumbled into Numair and Kit on his way home, not in a white-washed world. Numair stopped the flow of magic, releasing it gently into the air so as not to harm anyone, and looked at the tall God before him.

"I take it you're here for the girl, mortal mage," Gainel said in a voice that carried the weight of many centuries. The Dream Lord stared at him more intently, crossing his arms. "Alas, she is not here, and I am at a loss as to why you would be."

Numair met the Gods' eyes calmly, refusing to let himself become lost in them. "I didn't know you could speak, Lord Gainel," he said, trying to change the subject.

The Gods' expression didn't change. "This is my realm. This is a world-between-worlds, the Realm of Dreams. I can speak here if I wish," he said with impatience. "Now don't change the topic. Why are you here, Master Numair Salmalin?"

"I came to request your assistance, my Lord," the mage said in a subservient tone, bowing his head. Kit chirped and trilled as she gave the God her thoughts, then too bowed her head respectfully.

The God listened to Kit then rubbed his chin thoughtfully, turning more into the slightly awkward man that had been at Sarra's luncheon then a God defending his realm. "I see. You wish to leave your corporeal forms here to go after Veralidaine?" he asked, looking at them again.

Kit chirped her approval, but Numair looked away a fraction of an inch. "It's Daine," he whispered, barely audible.

Gainel heard this and bowed his head apologetically. "Of course. Daine," he said, looking back up to Numair. "You do have my apologies for your loss, Master Numair. Daine was a beautiful young woman, and a blind bat could tell you loved her."

A wave of grief washed over Numair, but was quickly replaced by determination. Numair nodded quickly in acknowledgement of the apology and looked at the Dream Lord again. "So are you going to let us go or not?"

Gainel looked at the mortal mage gravely. "Yes, you may pass," he said, not taking his eyes off Numair's face. "But be warned, you have only days to return to your corporeal form, or it will be lost to the Dreams forever and there will be no getting it back, Immortal or no."

Kit chirped in understanding and Numair nodded. He pictured himself beside his body, viewing himself as though in a mirror. He gathered up the aura he could feel in every nerve in his body and pushed it up and out, taking a deep breath. Numair took a single step forward and opened his eyes.

The Realm of Dreams was alive with color, each more vivid and bright than any back in the mortal realms. Small creatures in all shades and tints darted amongst trees, bushes and creeks. To the east lay the skyline of a shimmering city, to the west a dark and haunted place. Numair turned around and found himself face to face with…himself, but with muted colors, as though covered with dust. Numair's body drooped and sagged, then fell dead away, as if he had fainted. Numair tried to catch his body, but it went straight through his slightly shimmering arms and hit the ground hard. Kit was having similar luck with her body, trying to pick it up and grab it by the now-white scales on the scruff of its neck.

Numair gave a short laugh at Kittens' predicament, and she chirped in distress, her shimmering scales turning murky instead of the dark blue/black they had been since her ma's death.

Gainel cleared his throat, and the pair turned to look at him. "Your time is limited –do not waste it on frivolous things like this," he said, turning once more into the God that he was.

"How do we get to the Black God's Realm?" Numair asked as Gainel turned and walked away, fading with each step.

"Just think yourselves there," the Gods' voice was distant and gargled, as though heard underwater, and the God vanished.

Numair thought of the Black God's Realm, the realm of death. What did it look like? When he tried to picture it, all he could see was fading gray and fog. There was an unexpected pinching sensation and a pressure on his leg, and Numair was pulled between Realms.

The Realm of Death was just as Daine had once described, with a familiar scene eerily cloaked in fog, giving him a disconcerting sense that he should be there, but at the same time didn't know where he was. He felt a familiar sense of déjà vu, and tried to take a step forward. Kit growled and nipped his leg before jumping off, the tip of her tail twitching in annoyance as Numair lost his balance and landed in the dirt beside her. While Numair felt a sharp pain in his leg, there seemed to be no damage to the shimmering skin, and he stood up, huffing slightly to Kit.

"Well if you're going to be like that then maybe I should've just left you behind," he said hotly. The dragonet looked at him as though he had grown nine heads and chirped indignantly. "Then behave," Numair said, interpreting Kits look. She hung her head in mock shame, then caught up to Numair when she realized he was walking away.

"Now we just need to find her…" the tall mage muttered vaguely, looking around. Kit wandered a short distance, trying to see through the fog. They passed a tree, a large boulder, and a small grove just in time to run into a platoon of shimmering soldiers, swords, spears and arrows pointed directly at them.


	6. Long Forgotten

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: hey guys, me again. woooo chapter, wait, what is this? 6? yea, that sounds good. let's go with that. chapter 6! sounds like a party. this chapter's kindof a downer (haha like the entire story hasnt been enough of one so far), but there is a bit of fluff, so uhm...hope youre happy with that.**

**NUMAIR'S POV:**

"Numair Salmalin of Corrus, formerly Arram Draper of Carthak, and Skysong Dragon of the Mortal Realms, come with us in the name of the Black God, or condemn yourselves to damnation," the lead soldier said in a hollow voice, jabbing his sword towards them. Numair held his hands up in surrender, but Kitten rushed at the soldier who had spoken, puffing smoke. Numair managed to grab her before she jumped the spirit, but she struggled, and he used a spell to put her to sleep.

Numair looked around as the soldiers surrounded him and the dragonet, swords and spears digging into the mages back, pushing him forward. The sparkling steel tingled and sparked where it touched his back, and made Numair shift uncomfortable. This only caused the soldiers to dig their weapons in farther, and the lead soldier glared at him, "you might not want to do that. Any and all escape tactics will have you…dealt with," he said menacingly.

"What do you mean, 'dealt with'?" Numair asked, but it was a rhetorical question, just there for getting more information out of the soldiers surrounding them. When no answer was forthcoming, he drew his own conclusions and kept quiet.

They walked on and on through the foggy countryside, passing anything worthwhile to look at only once in a while. Neither the soldiers nor the man made any kind of conversation, preferring to trudge along in silence rather than comment on the rare passing tree or rock. Numair tried to cast a spell to lift the fog, and found that he couldn't access most of his magic. With this came the realization that he should have been getting tired or hungry as he should have after hours of walking at the fast pace the soldiers held him at, carrying a thirty or forty pound dragonet.

As the hours wore on, Numair began to daydream, walking as though in a dream with the soldiers_. How was Daine? Would she be the same as when they had last met? Would she bare the scars of her death? Why wasn't she in the Divine Realms with her parents?_ Questions raced through his mind, until suddenly a door was slamming shut behind him and he was inside a giant, black castle.

Hall was a more correct term to use, actually. That's all it was, a hall. A rather grand and large hall, like those used in the Scanran Empire, but a hall nonetheless. At the far end of the hall sat a huge black throne, and on the throne a prone figure in hooded black, face inscrutable. The soldiers nudged him forward, and at a somewhat slower pace, they walked towards the Black God on his throne. Every sound was amplified and echoed throughout the chamber, making their footsteps a cacophony that hurt the mage's ears.

When they _finally_ reached the God, he waved his bony hand and the soldiers vanished around him. Kit jumped down from his arms, having been awake and silent for quite some time, and bowed her head respectfully. Numair bent into a formal bow. So deep he could almost have touched his forehead to his knees, but not so deep as to be mocking the Great One.

"Numair Salmalin," the Black God said in a hesitantly friendly but firm voice, "you are not due here for another twenty or thirty years. So, the situation begs asking, why _are_ you here?" The tone of his voice said that the question itself was just a formality –the Black God knew exactly why Numair was there.

Numair rose, keeping his eyes locked on the spot just below the Gods' hood; it was said that any who dared look into the hood had his soul devoured by the monster inside. "I request permission to see Veralidaine Sarrasri, my Lord," he said clearly, with little to no inflection.

The Black God nodded slowly, a hand disappearing to rub at what Numair supposed would be his chin. "Veralidaine Sarrasri, hmm? I think I can arrange it, if only for a farewell. Although, I must warn you, there is something wrong with her, here in this Realm"

"I don't care," Numair said softly, determination and loss evident in his voice. "All I want is to see her, to hold her again. One more time, that's all I ask."

The death God nodded solemnly and whispered a word in Old Thak, leaving it echoing throughout the hall. Within a second, there was a wave of power, and then a figure stood with her back to him, giving her greetings to the God that now held total dominion over her.

Numair couldn't stand it –the smoky brown hair, curly and wild. It seemed like just yesterday he had run his hands through it, had gazed into those soft blue-gray eyes that he knew so well. That chiming voice, softly ringing through the hall, resurfacing memories and feelings that he had tried so hard to contain. It was too much.

He crossed the two steps between them in an instant, whispering her name with desperation. She turned around in shock –she had obviously not expected him here. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close, breathing in her scent, only to have her push away from him, fear in her eyes.

"D-Daine?" he said, stepping back as though she had struck him. Fears and confusion raced through his mind, consuming him until all he could do was stand there, hurt and with his arms half extended.

"How do you know me?" she said, her voice cautious and hostile, going into the semi-defensive posture that he had memorized. He almost expected her to have one hand on her bow, slowly drawing an arrow from a quiver. He looked into her eyes, searched her face, but she held no trace of the love she had once shown him, first as her friend and student, then as a lover. She took a half step forward, trying to psych him out. "Well?"

His hands fell to his sides, limp and useless. Beside him, Kit chirped in distress, her scales turning near-white with sudden worry. Daines' eyes barely flickered to the dragonet before turning back to Numair, hard as diamonds. "You don't recognize me." The sound echoed off the walls, hitting his ears again tenfold, hating the sound of it.

"No, I don't believe we've met, but you seem to know a fair lot about me. Is there something I'm missing here?" she retorted sarcastically, trying to provoke him as well as get information out of him. He didn't respond, didn't give him what she wanted, but fell to his knees, his face in his hands. He heard the Black God speak, but didn't –_couldn't-_ pay attention to the words. _No, no, no, nonononono, not my Daine, not my Magelet, oh Gods please, let her remember me, please, not my Daine_, the man thought, the sentence coursing through his head like a fervent prayer.

He sat there for what seemed like hours, before he heard Daines' voice again, small and scared. "I…I'm sorry, Numair. I don't know my past, who I was when I lived or why or even _how_ I died. I don't know who you are, or what we were to each other." Numair felt a hand on his shoulder, hesitant and soft. He lifted his head to look at Daine, her face soft and pitying. "But if I meant enough to you for you to come from the Mortal Realms to get me back, then this is the least I can do." The girl helped him up, and slowly, wrapped him in an embrace.

He buried his face in her hair, suddenly longing and desperate. She smelled just like he remembered, like pine and stables and the _wild_. He held her close and burned the memory of this last goodbye into his memory, savoring every second, until at last she pulled away. She looked at him once more with her soft eyes, and with a soft whisper, faded away. Kit cried in grief as the great mortal mage collapsed again beside her, alone in the hall.


	7. Talk and Bargains

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: guys this story took a really unexpected turn, even for me. it's still a grief story, and next chapter I think we'll check up on the peoples back in the Mortal Realms, but like I didn't expect the story to go like this. I like the direction this is going, and I hope you do too, but I don't really get reviews so I can't tell. Just keep in mind that it IS still a story about grief, and we'll be fine, okay, thanks.**

**NUMAIR'S POV:**

Numair opened his eyes to sharp light streaming in from the windows, making his eyes smart something awful. He covered his eyes and waited for the afterimage to wear off, his eyes slowly adjusting to the sunlight. When he stood, looking around, Kitten chirped and gracefully jumped from the Black Gods' lap to rub against his leg like a cat. Numair absentmindedly picked her up, making his way to the Black Gods' throne. Once there, he bent his head in a nod of respect, but nothing more than that. He didn't feel up to it.

"My Lord."

The God returned the nod in a quick bob of his head. "Master Numair," he said, his silky voice filling the hall.

"She doesn't remember me," he said in a low voice, head slightly down and staring at the floor.

"I _did_ try to warn you, Master Numair. I tried to tell you, she doesn't remember anything. She told you that herself, actually," the Death God said, trying to somewhat redeem himself.

"_Why _doesn't she remember, though? Do all dead people not remember their lives? Is this a regular thing that happens?" the tall mage asked. He lifted his head, keeping his eyes just below the hood of the Gods' robe.

"No," the Black God whispered, genuine sorrow filling his voice, "it's not. You see, Master Salmalin, she was killed by a form of Chaos. _The _form of Chaos, just as fate would have it. When that happens to somebody, it consumes their mind and soul. If I had let Veralidaine keep her mortal memories, she would have changed, and not for the better. Over time, she would have left this realm as an Immortal Chaos being, forever damned to kill mortals and serve her slayer, Uusoae. Is that what you would like to happen to her?"

Numair's eyes narrowed, the scholar in him seeing an easy way past this. "Couldn't you just remove the memories that had to do with Uusoae and the battle? She would still be herself then," he said, his voice getting subtly louder.

The God shook his head, making the hood almost fall off. "That wouldn't have worked. Chaos had tainted her soul, her being. Her very _essence_. Every memory she ever had was twisted, tainted to serve the Chaos-bringer and her underlings. I had to remove who she _was_ to keep her who she _is_. Not to mention, even if I could have removed just those memories dealing with the battle, I would have to remove every memory of hers ever since she learned of the war, beginning with her waking you up in that field. Do you remember? You in bird form, ill and injured, and her shifting you by force? Everything before that point would be gone. She wouldn't know you either way. Do you see? I had no choice," he said, bowing his head slightly. "She was a hero, brave even by the Gods' standards. I had to do what I could to save her. I'm sorry."

Numair took a step back, lowering his face in defeat. _She wouldn't remember me no matter what. I guess death really is goodbye for people like us,_ he thought, mentally preparing himself to leave the Black Gods' Realm, as much as it pained him. _Who she was is no more; she's lost to me. My Magelet's gone. _The thought was overwhelming, almost brining him to his knees, but in the face of good decorum, all he did was bid the God farewell in a nearly silent whisper, bow and head towards the door, a dark blue Kit at his heels.

He was almost at the door when the Black God called him back. The mage turned around, surprise barely registering on his features.

"You know, Master Numair, you were a key factor in bringing Uusoae's downfall. If it weren't for you, Veralidaine wouldn't have learned nearly as much as she did under your tutelage, even with the Badger God to help her. If you weren't there, she never would have killed Ozorne, winning us the war. Other Gods wouldn't do this, but I would be so inclined to do you one last kindness," the God spoke in a strong voice, letting the echoes spiral and increase in volume before fading away.

Numair could barely summon the energy to walk back to the God each step slow and plodding. He almost didn't want to hear what the God had in mind, just on the off chance it would disappoint or agonize him further. "Yes, my Lord?" he said in a quiet, flat voice.

"I have her memories in here," the Black God said, waving his hand. A crystal appeared in it. "I've cleansed them of all Chaos taint. I can do one of two things: I can either give them to you, for you to view at will, or I can make you a complete copy of the Daine that died, without the taint. It would invoke a very old and powerful magic that hasn't been done in centuries, and it doesn't happen often. Which would you like?"

Energy filled Numair, and he lifted his head, staring sharply at the God. "Why don't you just give her back her memories, if they're clean?"

The God sighed and ran a hand over his hood. "Because she won't accept them. She doesn't think that she could ever be that person again. She doesn't think she _should _ever be that person again, and I'm not going to force this on her. It's a decision she must make. It scares her. If you want a physical Veralidaine, then I can use her memories to give her to you, without a single fault in her character. She'll be the same person that you loved, Master Numair, in every single aspect."

"No, it wouldn't," he said quietly. "It wouldn't be the same because I would _know_ that it wasn't her. No matter how real the copy, with the wild magic and the texture of her hair or how she speaks, I would know that it's a copy. Fake. A _gift_. And this is one gift I won't accept, my Lord. You have my gratitude, and my apologies." He bowed again, and just as he turned around an idea struck him. He turned back to face the God, animated once again. "But, you _could_ do something else for me, my Lord."

The Black God looked at him once more. "And that would be…?"

"Just let me try to convince her, with my remaining time in your realm. Let me talk to her, be with her. Ju-"

"You have three days," the Black God said, only to happy to acquiesce. "If you can convince her to take her memories within three days, I'll give them to her, and prolong your stay here. If you can't, you leave this realm, to stay in the Mortal Realm till the day you join me here again."

The tall man was holding back tears of joy –he would get to see Daine, to hold her, for more than just a few fleeting seconds. _If she doesn't turn me away, that is._ "Thank you, my Lord, thank you. You have no idea what this means to me," he said, rushing through his words in his excitement.

"Oh, but I do, Master Numair," the Death God said in a playful tone –_was he __teasing__ me? _Numair thought– and waved his hand. Numair felt like he was being pulled through a space a little to small for him, then landed, winded, in front of a tower just like his own back in Corrus.


	8. Alanna's Grief

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: yea I know, this took a long time, but I haven't really been on the computer much. Video games, 'nuff said. Either way, here's the new chapter. Sorry it took so long.**

**ALANNA'S POV:**

Alanna glanced out the window for the thousandth time that day. Numair's tower stood lonely against the sky, birds perching on every available horizontal surface. Three days abandoned, it seemed as though all of Daine's feathered and furred friends had taken residence, and refused to let anyone but Jonathan, Onua, Jonathan and Alanna herself in. Cloud, Daine's short-tempered gray pony, stood guard at the door to the tower, baring her teeth at anyone who came near.

Alanna cringed inwardly at the sight, reminded of Numair's suicide three days past. It took all of her strength to remain calm and composed, as opposed to breaking down in the middle of the meeting she was in.

Some "incredibly tactical genius" Count stood in front of her, thinking to lecture _her_ on proper battle strategy. He had droned continuously in a monotone voice, barely pausing to take a breath. Everything about him grated on her, from his gray hair to the fact that he was making more mistakes than a country bumpkin in the strategy he was attempting to explain. _He's worse than Numair! _she thought, then corrected herself_. Was. Numair was. _She'd been there since dawn, and as the day went from clear and chilly to slight but soaking rain, she decided she'd had enough.

She stood up, her chair scraping on the stone floor. All heads turned to her, and the Count stopped mid-sentence.

"Is there something you wanted, Champion?" the 'teacher' asked, his voice _finally_ making some kind of inflection.

"Yes, actually. You see, I'm leaving," she replied, making her way to the door. Captains stared after her, their mouths agape.

The Count sputtered in shock –he obviously had not expected his lesson to be anything less than exhilarating. "W-what?"

She turned to face the balding man, meeting him square in the eyes. "I'm leaving," she repeated, her voice chilly and stubborn.

"Why? I-I thought that you were supposed to b-be here…" the Count said nervously. He was wringing his hands and looking down at the floor, suddenly awkward and childish, like a boy asking a girl to their first dance.

"I'm supposed to be wherever I want, _Count. _You see, you're wrong, and fair boring I might add, and I've had a long week. Now, you can continue to be a blubbering idiot all you want, I have more important things to do," the Champion said sharply, then turned on her heel and walked out.

She made her way to the tower as fast as she could without breaking into a run. Lords and messenger boys jumped out of her way, not daring to be anywhere near the Champions famous temper when it finally struck. When she reached the door of the tower, Cloud nickered and swished her tail, stepping aside for Daine's close friend. Alanna slammed the door behind her and raced up the tower, hoping beyond all reason that when she reached the top, Numair would look at her as he so often did, with one eyebrow cocked in surprise and his hair in a horsetail, a book in his hands and Daine nearby, a cat on her lap, asking her what was wrong.

The first thing Alanna noticed was that the door was open. Seeing that open door, she stopped dead at the top of the stairs and stared at the room beyond. The Museum of Tortall had arrived yesterday, when Numair was pronounced missing or dead, and claimed most of his belongings, seeing as they somehow pertained to academic study. The room looked mostly empty without all the books and crystals and bookish things that Alanna never did quite understand there to fill it.

The Champion walked slowly into the room, scared of what she would find. Animals filled every corner, not quite cowering with her presence but not quite comfortable with it either. She closed the door behind her softly, barely making any noise in the nearly silent room. Her eyes fell on the now-empty desk, the bed with the mussed sheets, the wardrobe with that mirror that she had given him about five years ago, and that he had dropped about five seconds after he received it. She walked over to the mirror, entranced by it. _How could something so inconsequential have such meaning?_ She wondered as she ran her hand over the smooth glass surface.

She stared into the mirror, memories flooding her mind. Daine, Numair, everything that they had been to her and to each other.

_When Alanna first noticed them together._

_Meeting Daine, having Numair there. Seeing what might be, eventually._

_Talking to Numair about her. Seeing him lower his eyes in shame as he confessed what his student meant to him. _

_Daine, alive, fully animated, telling her about some trivial thing that squirrels did to hide their nuts for the winter. _

_When Daine and Numair disappeared to the Realm of the Gods, being so worried for them that she could hardly fight, so she fought harder to overcome herself. _

_Jonathan on the floor, staring blankly at a spot with air that still hummed with Numair's magic. Realizing that both teacher and student were gone._

_Daine._

_Numair._

_Alive. _

The shock of what had happened finally hit her, and she stared numbly and senseless into the mirror, remembering, until Thayet came and gently led her away.


End file.
